It's 2 o'clock in the morning now. I'm on a late night drive to the Acme pit mines. With muddy thoughts in a midnight mind, a mound of gravel in my guts, I'm churning up The last 4 years and knocking back a cocktail of wins and losses. Wyoming night in the early Autumn. Do you wanna come for a drive?
Take me back to that Winter night when we walked outside and filled cold air with our voices. We set the icy, empty streets to rights, and just talked all night until our frozen throats thawed out.
3:10 a.m. It's still warm outside. The gravel speaks, with each step, under my feet. Tally up the feet and miles I've gone, the feet and miles we have lived. A memory walk is vignette stops: Those nights we spent drinking wine on your rooftop. Wyoming night in the heat of Summer. Do you wanna come for a drive?
Thinking back on that April night when we stayed inside and hid from rain in the Springtime. We let our favorite records spin all night while it soaked outside until the red wine sky dried out.
An empty ghost town. 3:45. Imprints of gravel on my legs are a star map I'll follow back to the times we had through mounting years and empty space. A distant place I'm dredging up. The one laid down; woven thick in our fibers. The map is laid out but I know my way. So do you wanna come for a drive?